


bewitched

by lovebot (bluelions)



Series: bewitched [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Witches, Cats, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelions/pseuds/lovebot
Summary: Kuroo, as all witches do, finds himself with a cat and a curse. Except the cat happens to be a fellow witch, and the curse happens to be a gateway to a forgotten crush. It’s a good thing his curse-breaking skills are next to zero. Right?In which an accidental curse turns Yaku into a cat, and Kuroo is tasked with turning him back.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Yaku Morisuke
Series: bewitched [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019764
Comments: 24
Kudos: 83





	1. sundays are for the cats

**Author's Note:**

> a witchy au i've been excited to write after i finished watching the nekoma ova! i have four chapters outlined, but i'm not sure quite where it will end, so who knows how long this will turn out haha

Sundays are peaceful days for Kuroo. He has no obligations but to feed and entertain himself until he inevitably passes out in the warmth of his bed. In his tiny house overlooking the city, Kuroo Tetsurou occupies himself with everything from a well-loved book selected from his extensive library to tending the garden in his backyard. It’s during such a Sunday that he chooses to laze about on the sunny back porch with a plate of cut fruit, accompanied by an equally lazy neighborhood cat and that he receives a phone call.

Kuroo doesn’t typically get phone calls, so he figures it’s worth wiping the watermelon juice from his hands onto his pants and fumbling for his cell back inside. He doesn’t even look at the caller ID.

“Hi- Hello?”

“Kuroo.”

His eyebrows shoot up.

“Kenma! I missed you,” Kuroo returns sweetly. “You never call.”

“We text almost every day,” he deadpans.

“And isn’t that a miracle? What’s got you oh so desperate to hear my voice all of a sudden, hm?” Kuroo pads back to the porch and sits back down with a grunt. It startles the dozing feline into an offended mew, and Kuroo has half the mind to feel slightly sorry.

“I need a favor,” Kenma says, and then corrects himself, “the business needs a favor.”

Kenma’s family has run a hot spring and inn joint for generations, and in the couple decades they grew up together, the business began to blow up. As a non-witch, Kenma didn’t have any doubt that he would eventually take over when he grew old enough. In the recent couple of years, Kuroo often finds himself pushed away for Kenma’s growing duty, which Kuroo can understand. It’s a demanding job.

“Oh? Something spooky happened?” Kuroo pops a piece of melon into his mouth.

Kenma’s hum crackles through the line. “Well, something like that. We’ve been getting some complaints the past few days about strange noises around the hot springs. People have said there’s howling and hissing. Some people said they heard a voice in their head.”

“And you think it’s something supernatural?”

“My father and a few employees searched the area expecting an animal of sorts, or maybe a child,” Kenma brings up. “They didn’t find anything, so I think it’s possible.”

Kuroo waits in silence for a moment.

“I don’t want word to spread that we’re haunted, Kuroo,” Kenma says finally, quietly, with a sort of affection he rarely admits.

A grin spreads slowly across Kuroo’s face.

“What a businessman you’ve become,” he teases and relishes the exasperated sigh he receives. “Well, ghostbusting is within my witchy capabilities, so you’ve come to the right place.”

When they hang up a few minutes later, Kuroo notices another cat has joined their party, sniffing curiously at his leftover fruit. He scritches its orange head and grimaces when he realizes he used his juice-sticky fingers.

“Sorry, bud,” Kuroo apologizes. He doesn’t respond, naturally, and instead of eating decides to pick a fight with the first cat. Kuroo watches them get into a scuffle, rolling around the wooden porch as they claw and bat at one another. He knows better than to get involved; he has enough scars from that learning experience. Sure enough, it takes them less than thirty seconds to be civil again and begin grooming each other.

“My bad, my bad, I’ll leave you guys be,” Kuroo announces flippantly and slips back inside to get ready to leave.

-

The Famous Kozume Hotspring and Inn isn’t far at all from Kuroo’s house, just a few stations up into the less densely populated area of Tokyo. Kuroo’s childhood home where his parents still reside is only down the street even, so it’s a lot like leaving the room only to find yourself back in the same room.

Kenma is waiting for him on a bench just outside the entrance when he arrives.

“You’re late,” he says in place of a greeting.

“Aw, were you worried?” Kuroo reaches out a hand to pat the top of Kenma’s head, and he allows it.

Kenma clicks his tongue before standing. “Just follow me.”

Instead of heading inside, Kenma leads them across the small parking lot into the sparse woods cupping the back of the establishment. They follow the tall wooden fencing blocking off any chances of perverts hoping to sneak a peek into the springs. The sound of metal clanging and loud voices signal they’ve reached the kitchen, and the familiar aroma of grilled meat makes Kuroo’s mouth water.

“This feels like we’re teenagers having a romantic rendezvous,” Kuroo murmurs.

“Is this your idea of romantic?” Kenma counters.

“ _Anything_ can be romantic, Kenma.”

“I suppose.”

Kuroo considers Kenma’s lack of opposition a win.

It’s not long until they’ve finally passed the suites and the family quarters that the wispy steam of the hot springs comes into view, floating up into the setting daylight. Kenma stops walking and Kuroo follows suit, looking around. The trees and shrubbery grew thicker here, and even thicker if you walked away from the building. It isn’t exactly quiet; there are birdsong and the gentle sloshing of water, but no ghostly noises.

“We’ve received complaints from both men and women, but it seems that it’s mostly coming from this section,” Kenma gestures with his hand, “which is towards the women’s baths.”

Kuroo paces slowly in the direction he indicated, eyes darting around for any visual clues. “You said people heard voices?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what they were saying?”

“Some people said they were mostly crying for help and to ‘get them out of here’. Others have said it talked about their hunger,” Kenma recalls.

“So it’s sentient and coherent,” Kuroo mumbles to himself. It could very well be a ghost or even a fairy looking to pull a prank, but neither is bound by anyone spot; if they really had intentions for spooky matters they could’ve outright and done it by now.

Kuroo comes to a stop and shuts his eyes. Kenma didn’t bring him out here to walk around and look for the damn thing.

Witches and humans aren’t much different in terms of appearance, intelligence, or physical ability. Strip a witch of their magic and they’re essentially human. Even then, some humans do possess small amounts of the stuff anyway; mastering and strengthening that power is another matter though. What really sets them apart is perception: the ability to feel magic in the air and the earth, the staggering difference between powerful black magic and the mundane power fueling their train cars, to touch someone’s skin and feel the energy coursing through their body, pure and clean for a human but charged and explosive for a witch. Hiding magic from a witch is not impossible, but pretty fucking hard.

The hot springs behind Kuroo emanate a gentle soothing pulse that he knows to be the effect of an arcane rejuvenation spell. Kenma is plain and entirely devoid of any magic save for the lingering residue left by the bathwater on his hands. He can feel the witches in the building like a wave, ebbing and flowing as they move about the building. Kuroo feels these things the same way a stove is quick to let you know it’s hot.

So Kuroo figures out in an instant that it’s a _witch_.

Kuroo’s eyes fly open. A witch and something else…?

“What did you find, Kuroo?” Kenma asks.

His brows furrow deeply and he answers slowly, “Something quite interesting.” Kuroo felt it like a fat raindrop plunking its presence into his radar, and he began to walk out, Kenma trailing behind. Somewhere just behind this cluster of trees, a bit more to the right, and-

A dense bush tall enough to brush Kuroo’s belly sits before them. He circles it curiously. Strangely, a large gaping hole has been stabbed through the leaves leaving a jagged mess of branches around its circumference. It’s undoubtedly where the witch is, but Kuroo casts a glance at Kenma, who stands back a pace, anyway.

“It’s a witch,” Kuroo explains, “apparently.”

“You’re positive?” Kenma asks, but it’s a pointless question. They’re both confident in Kuroo’s abilities.

“Should I burn the bush away?”

“Huh?” Kenma gives him a nasty look. “You just told me a living being is in there, and you want to burn it alive?”

“I don’t want to stick my hand in there!” Kuroo counters.

“You can’t do anything else? You’re a witch.”

“I’m aware.” Kuroo sighs. He doesn’t know why he’s stalling but there’s something weird in the air and he can’t quite pinpoint what it is.

“It’s kind of creepy.” Kenma’s eyes flick to the bush and then away. “Knowing there’s a human being in there.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Let’s get this over with quickly!” Kuroo claps his hands together for resolve.

He wasn’t really planning on burning the thing down, not really, but it gives him an idea. Kuroo positions himself closer and at this distance, he can clearly get a sense of where the witch is exactly. In one quick sweep of his arm, a razor-sharp gust of wind slices cleanly through the shrubbery, kicking up leaves from the forest floor. About a fourth of the bush was cleanly cut off. As everything flutters back down, they find that a large tin box is nestled tightly within the remaining branches. It’s deep blue and rectangular, and one side bears the scarring of some kind of magical burn, small holes opening up due to the corrosion.

“It’s a box of cookies,” Kenma remarks. “I don’t think there’s a human being in there, Kuroo.”

“A box of witch,” Kuroo corrects. “Well, time to open up and find out.”

Kuroo takes the box in his hands, grunting at the surprising weight of it. He crouches to place it on the ground and goes to remove the lid, but it doesn’t budge.

“I thought you were stronger than that,” Kenma remarks snidely.

“Shut up, noodle arms,” Kuroo hisses. He tries to get at it at different angles, shoving it between his knees and trying to yank it off, but it just hurts his fingernails. It must be magically sealed. He didn’t initially sense it due to the overwhelming magic pulsing from within. Whoever this witch is is pretty strong. But now that he’s aware and seeing things properly, he realizes the seal itself isn’t strong at all. Strange.

Kuroo presses his palm flat to the lid and murmurs a few words, and he feels the seal crumble and fade like dust. Then a voice that isn’t Kenma’s invades his brain. Kuroo gasps out of shock and leans back.

“Wh-who’s there?” The voice sounds tired, but it’s firm. It must belong to the witch inside. They probably woke up with all the motion and noise. “Are you saving me?”

“That depends,” Kuroo mutters under his breath and finally pops the lid open.

A cat stares back at him with copper eyes, curled up and filling its tin boundaries with tabby fur like liquid. It blinks once before slowly unfurling and greedily breathing in the air. Kuroo stays stiff, ready to counter any weird move it might pull, but the witch stays equally wary and crouched close to the bottom of the box.

“You’re a witch,” both Kuroo and the cat blurt at the same time.

Kuroo’s eyes narrow. “Last time I checked, witches weren’t born as animals,” he says. “So either you’re a freak of nature or something else.”

“Freak of nature- Don’t be rude!” The cat physically hisses at him and Kuroo jolts backward. “Look, I was cursed.”

Ah, that’s what Kuroo was sensing earlier. Curses aren’t necessarily uncommon, but Kuroo’s never been in close proximity with anything cursed before. It feels like it’s plucking at his senses from multiple directions, incessant and hard to place except for the weight it bears down on his chest.

“It was an accidental curse, but now I’ve been turned into a cat,” they continue. “My name is Yaku and I really am a human being, you have to believe me!”

Something stirs within the back of Kuroo’s mind.

“Alright then, Yaku,” he says, “stay still.”

“What? Why?”

Yaku’s eyes round out with fear as Kuroo reaches his hand forward, and he tries to shrink away from his touch. “I said stay still,” Kuroo grits between his teeth and ends up smashing his palm against the top of Yaku’s head, flattening his ears. Yaku yelps and tries to bat him away, but Kuroo’s got a firm grip on his small skull.

Kuroo concentrates and blocks out everything else but Yaku from his perception. Slowly but surely, an image of a man appears in his mind. Yaku is indeed a human being; around Kenma’s height, short and light brown hair, wide and piercing eyes, a black witch’s cape buttoned around his shoulders. Kuroo’s eyes slide open; he didn’t even know they had shut. _Oh, he really is…_

“Excuse me!” Yaku scratches a score down the back of Kuroo’s hand, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts. Kuroo yanks it back with an outcry of pain. “What did you just do?”

“Geez, calm down, shortcake,” Kuroo says, inspecting the wound. Blood slowly seeps out but it wasn’t deep. “I have an affinity for transmutations, so seeing the true nature of things comes easily to me,” he explains, “And, just as you said, you really are a human being.”

Yaku has the decency to look guilty. “I-I’m sorry.”

“What do you intend to do now, then, Yaku?” Kuroo questions.

“I know I already owe you for saving me just now,” Yaku starts, “but I need to ask for your help again.”

Kuroo squints. “You don’t mean-”

“Please find a way to break this curse!” Yaku’s shout resonates within his skull.

“That’s not happening,” he replies immediately. “I’ll take you to anybody else you know, really.”

“There _is_ nobody else, that’s why I’m asking,” Yaku pleads. His tail swishes back and forth, a feline sign of distress that Kuroo recognizes.

“Look, I don’t even know how to break curses! I have to learn an entirely new area of magic!”

“You can try! I’ll do my best to help you!”

“I have my own life too!”

The more they argued, the closer they gravitated towards each other, eager to get into each other’s faces to make their point. It takes Kenma yanking Kuroo back to snap them out of it. Kuroo had honestly forgotten about him.

“You’re fighting with a cat, stop it,” Kenma reprimands.

“I’m fighting with a cursed cat who wants me to turn him back,” Kuroo grinds out. “Which I can’t do!”

Kenma casts a glance at Yaku who still stands frozen in his tin box, then back at Kuroo.

“Nothing is impossible for you,” Kenma says. “It’s a transmutation curse, right? You already said you’re good at that kind of thing. You probably have a higher chance of accomplishing it than you think.”

Kuroo opens his mouth to argue, but Kenma barrels on.

“Yaku said he doesn’t have anyone else who could help him. Do you really think this is the kind of thing someone would want to dump onto you, some stranger? It would be more troublesome for him to find someone else and try to explain the situation.”

Kuroo can feel his resolve wilting, just decomposing as Kenma finally nails it in the coffin.

“Besides, you already have plenty of cats at home. Yaku can’t go home and take care of himself anyway. What’s one more going to do?”

Kuroo shares a look with Yaku, like he can’t believe Kenma’s advocating for him either. But he relaxes and dips his head in Kenma’s direction, and says, “I promise I’ll pay you back. Anything within my ability.”

The moment Kenma decided to step in, Kuroo knew he lost. Kuroo heaves a long sigh, presses his palms to his eyes, and rubs until he sees stars.

“Fine,” Kuroo mutters, “fine, fine, fine!” He stabs a finger at Yaku almost jabbing his pink nose. “You’ll be paying me back for the rest of your life.”

-

And that’s how Kuroo finds himself with Yaku, a cream tabby cat, curled up on his couch fast asleep later that night. Kuroo had taken him back home in the cookie tin so it wouldn’t look weird on the train, and when he had opened it back up, Yaku was asleep then as well. He soon realized Yaku had been without food or water for at least a couple of days. Coupled with the crying for help - having to project his speech into people’s heads he couldn’t even see is quite the feat - his exhaustion must have hit hard. Dinner was a quick and silent affair before Yaku was out again. Kuroo wanted to get a more complete story on how the cursing actually happened, but it would have to wait until tomorrow.

Kuroo sits in his study with his forehead pressed into his desk. The sun has set, but orbs of light float aimlessly around the room, illuminating his still form in warm yellow. His thoughts wander to the conversation he had pulled Kenma over for before they left.

“Why did you do that?” Kuroo had whispered harshly.

Kenma didn’t respond immediately, just searched Kuroo’s face as if the answer was written all over it. He said, “Because you’re a talented witch, Kuroo. And ambitious.”

“That doesn’t mean I need to take in a- a _side project_. I have my own work!”

Kenma doesn’t deny it and instead adds, “Well, and I know who he is, too.”

His words punched the breath out from Kuroo’s lungs.

“Why do you look surprised?” Kenma almost frowns. Almost.

“I-I don’t know, I just didn’t think-”

“There aren’t a lot of Yaku’s.”

“Yeah. There really aren’t,” Kuroo muttered.

They stood in silence for a bit longer.

“You’re not unkind either, Kuroo,” Kenma said finally. “I’ll see you later.”

Then he disappeared into the inn’s lobby without care for Kuroo’s response.

He doesn’t like the implications Kenma had invited into his head. They roll and bounce around his skull like marbles in a metal box being shaken up by some neighborhood kid. Each time one hits the wall Kuroo feels a memory being dredged up from deep-pocketed corners. There’s maybe twenty too many.

Kuroo eventually sits up in his chair and breathes in. The familiar scent of books and tomes, both old and new, calms his mind. A spread of different herbs and flowers lay before him, equally soothing but aromatic.He was supposed to be cataloging the new plants that finally reached maturity in the garden, and then he planned to review some material for tomorrow.

He exhales and picks up where he last left off. Sundays were relaxing days devoid of work, but Kuroo somehow finds himself needing the distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


	2. magic makes the mundane man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaku ventures into the backyard and reveals the idiot who cursed him.

Yaku is tugged from sleep by the smell of rich butter and the gentle clinking of a spoon stirring coffee. The fridge opens. The tap turns on. The chair scrapes the floor. For a moment, he thinks he’s back home with his parents; it’s a memory Yaku had nearly forgotten in the whirlpool of a life he dove into. It would’ve been an easy thing to sink into, to indulge the realism, if not for the overwhelming waves of magic lapping at his body. But he’s tired and can feel the ache of three days worth of being trapped in a cookie tin, so Yaku lets himself drift off again.

In the distance, somewhere far above him as his consciousness is slipping away, someone tells him, “I’m leaving.” There’s a pause and then, “I’ll be back, Yaku.” A door opens and then shuts, but Yaku is fast asleep.

He doesn’t wake up until there’s a sunbeam illuminating the backs of his eyelids in fleshy pink and red. For the briefest of moments, the light scares him, and he’s almost afraid to open his eyes; the darkness choked him for too long. Yaku decides to recount his memories from yesterday before getting up.

When Kuroo and Kenma had entered the forest, he felt it immediately. The magic - or, Kuroo’s magic, he would eventually find out after realizing Kenma was plain human - that had ignited all of his senses clearly signaled a strong individual. It was like a beacon of hope for Yaku, a torch in the blackness.

He hadn’t planned on asking whatever soul found him to break the curse for him, but Kuroo’s innate talent was tempting as it was obvious. Witches are drawn to that sort of thing; power, skill, experience.

Although, he really has to thank Kenma and his own intensity for advocating for him. That’s twice the appreciation Yaku now has to bestow, and he’s not looking forward to what they might ask of him. Eternal servitude still exists nowadays. Yaku’s stomach rumbles and he decides to put those thoughts away for now.

When he opens his eyes he’s met with two neat paws beneath his chin. _Oh, these are mine._ Yaku _knew_ he was a cat, but actually _seeing_ it was a jarring experience, especially when the shock of standing on not two, but four legs, sends him slipping and tumbling off the couch. _Shit!_ He scrabbles at the cushion desperately but it was no use. The fall to the floor is much longer than he anticipated and he lands on his side with a yelp. _I thought all cats landed on their feet, like, naturally._

Yaku lies there for a moment, swishing his tail experimentally, lamenting the claw marks scored across the blue cushion. _Maybe he won’t notice…_ But just as quickly, the fabric begins to stitch back up, leaving not a scar behind. _Huh._

When he gathers the strength to stand up, he finds that everything in the room looms over him like giants: the couch, the hulking wooden cabinet, the kitchen island in the distance. Yaku also notices that he is alone in the house. Kuroo’s presence is nowhere to be found but seeped in the furniture from years of living here. It’s quickly overshadowed by the smell of food.

Yaku finds two dishes and a handwritten note when he leaps up onto the coffee table. It reads:

_Yaku_

_Left for apprenticeship_

_Should be back before 3_

_We’ll talk when I get back_

_Rest up and don’t destroy my house_

_Kuroo_

Yaku huffs. As if he had anything to gain from knocking over vases and tearing up the curtains.

The apprenticeship was surprising, however. Apprenticeships were gateways into the witching workforce, hard to come by, and difficult to maintain. It’s a matter of appealing to those who have already raised the bar during their time, and like a curse, Yaku thinks humorlessly, each successive generation must raise it again and again and again. A wave of understanding washes over him as he recalls Kuroo’s refusal to accept his request; he really _doesn’t_ have time to break someone else’s curse.

Yaku understands intimately the struggle to prove not your potential, but your skill; not who you will be, but who you already are. And, as witches bud and bloom young, a lot of times understanding who you are is catching fireflies believing they’re stars. Whether they’re insects or dying light, a witch’s identity is solely dependent on what little of it already exists - strengths, weaknesses, dreams, fears - and latching onto it.

Witches aren’t brought up with the future as a changeable entity. It’s not a negative thing, he muses. Confidence in who you are is a strangely lacking thing in regular human society, but it’s injected like a drug; to suffer from withdrawal is self-doubt, to overdose is ego inflation. It’s a delicate balance.

Did Kenma, a non-witch, understand this stake that’s been driven through Kuroo, this bred desire to accomplish something great, and exploit it for Yaku’s sake? A chill races across his skin. _How scary_.

But 3 o’clock? He finds a wall clock placed by the front door and it reads 10:30. That’s a solid five hours. Yaku decides he’ll take care of his hunger first.

He was expecting kibble or canned wet food, but instead a neat plate of sliced meat waits for him, accompanied by a bowl of water. The first bite is bitter and Yaku quickly attributes it to the green paste slathered over each piece; it’s feverfew, a common cure-all, heal-all herb. It would’ve been a considerate touch if the texture weren’t so slimy. Yaku’s tempted to swallow it all without chewing just to avoid its contact with his tongue.

To Yaku’s delight, however, the bowl of water has been charmed. It refills automatically with the gentle sound of trickling water, leaving him with a bottomless well. Yaku might have to incorporate that into his own cups back home.

Yaku ends up leaving a good portion of the beef to snack on later (that’s what he tells himself) and begins wandering around the living room. He’s not one to explore someone else’s home without their permission, and he even avoids staring too long at the picture frames and certificates stuffed on the shelves. It’s a difficult task because Kuroo seems to be a hoarder.

The house is small. Yaku can only make laps around the living room so many times before he gets bored of the same whorls in the hardwood flooring.

Yaku casts a glance at the mesh sliding door to the backyard, tail waving in thought.

_Well, I heard there was company..._

-

When Kenma mentioned Kuroo had cats, Yaku was thinking something along the lines of pets, an affection that had grown out of hand perhaps. Or, maybe he had a feline familiar who enjoyed the company of its own kind, fed up with the whims and shortcomings of their witch. Normal situations.

Instead, Kenma had clearly referred to the pleasure garden Kuroo had planted on the far side of the backyard. About a dozen cats sprawl about large, blossoming catnip bushes like snooty gods and goddesses indulging ambrosia, drunken beyond movement more than rolling around and blinking. Succumbed by sedation, they lie listlessly in the lush grass without noticing Yaku’s presence.

Yaku can tell they’re just strays; none of them wear collars and there was no sign of their habitation inside the house. They seem right at home though, as if they’re old college buddies gathering together all for the purpose and habit to get high.

Witches _are_ particular towards cats, as much as Yaku is about breaking stereotypes, but it’s not common at all to intentionally draw them in by the masses. They’re still animals and can be disruptive and destructive; not to mention needy for food and attention. It’s just not safe when there’s often flames and poison and chalk circles that could summon hellfire if curious toe beans smear the intricate designs.

It’s weird enough that Yaku is stuck staring until something lands next to him, and startles Yaku out of his reverie.

“You! You came from inside!”

Yaku whips his head to the side and finds himself nose to nose with an orange tabby. His whiskers twitch excitably and his amber eyes are alert. Yaku stumbles back with a yelp.

“What the-”

The stranger cat interrupts him with a barrage of questions.

“What’s it like inside? Is there a lot of good food? The man always brings yummy treats! Oh, were you adopted by him? Is that why you’re here?”

“What? No,” Yaku wedges in, “I’m not a real cat!”

The orange tabby lets out a confused _mrrp?_ and begins to circle Yaku, his tail waving high. _He’s sniffing me…_

Yaku squeaks when a wet nose gets dangerously curious around his butthole, kicking out a hindleg to push the other away. They seem unfazed, content to trot back around and announce, “You’re right! You’re not a cat! Why is that…?”

Yaku doesn’t get a chance to explain anything before another voice cuts in.

“Hinata! What are you doing?”

Another feline, all black and pink-nosed, makes an appearance with a graceful leap onto the porch.

“Kageyama!” Hinata is eager to prance over and bonk the top of his head against Kageyama’s face until he returns the favor. It’s oddly affectionate for the annoyance he showed up with. “This one came from inside! And he’s not a cat!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kageyama hisses, “a cat is a cat.”

Either way, Yaku goes through the sniff-down and an uncomfortable butthole inspection once more for Kageyama to agree, “Huh, that’s weird.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you guys _didn’t_ do that,” he spits, quick to step away once it’s over.

Hinata finally turns back to him and asks, “What are you? Who are you?”

Yaku is hesitant to explain his situation, but he figures there’s no harm in it. There’s probably little they could do. Both of them listen intently and by the end of it, they sympathize with him.

“Hmm, I don’t think we know any curse-breaking witches.” Hinata’s gaze is apologetic.

“If anyone can learn to break a curse, I think he could do it,” Kageyama admits. He’s taken to sitting down with his tail laid neatly over his paws. Yaku thinks he’s a very prim and proper individual in comparison to Hinata, who trots and wiggles about.

“Why is that?” Yaku asks.

Hinata hums and answers, “It’s a feeling! Whenever I’m around him his magic makes me feel tingly, like something’s about to happen!”

_That’s not very tangible_ , Yaku thinks regrettably.

“He’s always working too,” Kageyama chips in. “He only comes out once a week. Well, and to take care of the plants. There’s a lot.”

“Yeah! Do you wanna see?” Hinata offers, but he’s bounding down the steps anyway and they’re forced to follow.

They turn the corner to the side of the house and Yaku’s breath is taken away.

“Mister probably put the catnip over there so the other cats wouldn’t mess with this place. Not like we can get in anyway!” Hinata comments, but Yaku isn’t listening.

Tall and narrow, a greenhouse rises between the length of the house and the opposing wall. Its glass is brimming with greens and enchantment, the tendrils of its airy magic luring Yaku closer and closer.

There are no tables or shelves, just wooden planters, hundreds of them, floating delicately in the air; Yaku thinks the varying wood color signifies something about the species inside of it, but he isn’t nearly as well-versed in botany to distinguish what it is. Clusters of them move in their own circular orbits, rotating like ferris wheels to distribute the sunlight filtering in. The sheer volume is amazing in itself. The only space they leave is to make a skinny pathway down to the end, presumably for Kuroo to walk through.

There are a few plants Yaku recognizes: those for healing potions and medicine, others for rituals both dark and harmless, some simply for ceremonial or gifting purposes. Kuroo’s collection is impressive and well-rounded.

Yaku is mesmerized by the pure genius of it all. In an instant he feels the energy in the air change.

It starts off as a twinkle high above the topmost planters. Hundreds of pinpricks of light burst out of thin air and begin to inflate, rounding out into iridescent bubbles of water no bigger than a cherry. They hover for a moment.

Yaku is silent, holding his breath to keep from fogging the glass. Then, all at once, they pop, and it begins to rain. The showers sound sweet pattering against fat, blue-green leaves, leaving glittery dew as the water rolls off and down to the next layer. It’s a star shower and Yaku is subjected to simply watching.

Enchanting mere _space_ is one of those goals every witch wishes they could achieve; it’s incredibly difficult to pull off, but its possibilities are endless. Kuroo not only exhibits that ability, but turned it into something mundane, gentle, private just for his knowledge and rascal kittens from the neighborhood. It’s equally powerful and achingly beautiful. Yaku could stand here forever with his only wish to be let inside.

Hinata comes up beside him then, and when Yaku looks at him he has a somewhat proud look.

“It’s pretty, huh?” Hinata remarks.

“Yeah, it is,” Yaku croaks, choked up.

_It’s more than that._

Hinata either doesn’t notice or doesn’t understand his emotions.

“Let’s go play now!” Then Hinata is bounding off back to the yard, Kageyama in tow.

Yaku lingers for another moment longer. The rain has stopped, but every so often a budding flower winks at him.

-

For the next hour, Yaku learns hands on (paws on?) how to enjoy his feline abilities to the fullest.

Hinata eagerly dove into showing Yaku how to wrestle, which involved a lot of Yaku getting battered into the grass and having to figure it out as he went. His body twists in extreme ways and the claws are frightening, but alas, he was not a quitter by any means and fought valiantly until he could pin Hinata down.

Kageyama was more interested in showing Yaku how to hunt down birds, which turned into falling leaves because he refused to put any wild animal in his mouth. It was cute though, watching the young black cat wiggle his rump all serious, and then leaping high to beat the absolute shit out of a dead leaf.

By the end of it all, Yaku felt much less conscious about his tail and how to maneuver four legs at once.

He plops down in the grass, panting hard.

“Wasn’t that fun? Being a cat isn’t so bad!” Hinata exclaims. He’s poised like he’s about to pounce and Yaku stiffens; he doesn’t think he could handle the full brunt of Hinata’s excitement for a second round.

Luckily, Kageyama swoops in to smoosh Hinata’s head into the grass and begins grooming him. The sound of his tongue rasping over fur is disturbingly audible. Hinata wiggles out onto his belly to continue talking.

“Yaku, you should just keep being a cat,” Hinata proposes. “I like playing with you.”

Yaku snorts. “While that sounds nice, I enjoy doing human things. Human witch things.”

“What kind of things?”

He takes a moment to consider it. There are a billion easy answers Yaku could use to satisfy Hinata, but there are a billion answers that aren’t easily replaced.

“Well,” Yaku starts, “I like waking up early and making breakfast for myself. I like riding the train and going to other cities; sometimes I see old friends or I watch a game of volleyfire. I love reading books, learning new magic, and spending time to perfect it over and over.”

Yaku pauses, tail swishing through blades of grass, and adds, “And I have dreams I have to make true. There’s a lot of things I’ve been working for. I can’t stop now.”

Hinata wiggles out from Kageyama’s tongue and moves closer to nuzzle his face into Yaku’s shoulder. Kageyama, albeit more awkward when he follows, rasps his tongue over the top of Yaku’s head. He realizes with a shock that they’re trying to _comfort_ him.

When Yaku laughs it’s a bit watery.

“You two are silly. Did I sound that sad?”

“I think I’d be sad too if I couldn’t do the things I liked,” Hinata responds. His nose is a damp spot beneath his chin, but Yaku doesn’t feel the urge to move away.

“It’s like... we’re meant to hunt, and you’re meant to do magic,” Kageyama offers thoughtfully.

“Yeah, something like that,” Yaku agrees, voice soft.

Hinata then makes a small noise and pulls away to look at Yaku.

“Does the curse mean you can’t do magic like this at all?” He asks.

Yaku blinks and answers honestly, “I-I don’t think so?”

He remembers his first couple hours in the box were filled with trying every possible spell that could get him out; any kind of slicing, explosion, warping, teleporting. None of it ever manifested. After that, Yaku didn’t bother. Although, those were certainly more advanced magics, so maybe if it was very simple…

Yaku squirms and the other two allow him to sit up.

“Let me try something,” he says.

Hinata gasps and Kageyama perks up.

“Magic?” They inquire simultaneously, heads tilting. It’s infuriatingly cute.

“Yes, but you squirts need to stay still,” Yaku says firmly. “And one at a time.”

Hinata begins to wiggle when Yaku sits in front of him, but he stills when Yaku places a paw to his forehead.

The caress of the grass, the low, rumbling purrs from the cat pile nearby, the pleasant thrum of magic emanating behind him: Yaku blocks it all out. He replaces it with a whisper of cotton sheets against skin, the hum of a refrigerator, dappled light sneaking between half-drawn blinds. Like drawing a thin thread through a needle, the sensation of magic flows through Yaku for the first time since the curse.

Hinata’s whiskers are twitching, pupils blown wide, when he whispers excitedly, “Y-Yaku, where is this? What’s happening?”

“This is my apartment,” Yaku answers, pleased to his core. “It’s where I live.”

Yaku takes him through his bedroom and shows him the view of the city from his window. He recalls what’s in the fridge, which pictures of which friends are hung up, the paperwork he left on his desk.

Suddenly, Kageyama bowls Hinata over and takes his place, and the string snaps so abruptly Yaku flinches.

Hinata goes flying with a yowl.

“I-I wanna see too!” Kageyama exclaims.

Yaku hisses, “What did I just say about staying still?”

He indulges him anyway. Yaku takes turns showing them different parts of the city, mostly inside buildings, like libraries and grocery stores, where cats aren’t allowed to just wander in. The stadium catches their attention the most where the city’s volleyfire team plays. Yaku tries to recall a particular match to its exact details and relishes in the way both Kageyama and Hinata darted their heads back and forth, following a ball of fire that wasn’t really there.

It feels good, but Yaku can feel his limit fast approaching much sooner than he’s used to. It pisses him off. Thought projection is an extremely low-level magic even if he’s painting the clearest of pictures, but he’s exhausted already.

He clicks his tongue when he releases the thread and pulls his paw away from Hinata for the last time.

“Was that okay?” Hinata asks tentatively.

“I’m sorry this idiot kept nagging for more,” Kageyama apologizes.

“You wanted to see more too!”

“Yeah, but I was nicer about it!”

They start to argue over each other and Yaku interrupts before someone gets tackled.

“It’s fine! Really,” Yaku insists, “thanks for letting me try it out.” He’s sincere about it. Just being able to feel the silvery lines of magic coursing beneath his skin was something to be grateful for. “Besides, I’m not so pathetic to let a little limit-testing bum me out.”

The two seem to accept it and immediately launch into pressing for more details about everything they saw. Yaku is more than happy to appease their hunger.

-

“Rise and shine, shortcake.”

After Yaku parted ways with Hinata and Kageyama, he retreated inside and out of the sun. He greedily finished the contents of both dishes and immediately curled up on the couch. Yaku fell asleep dreaming of glimmering dewdrops and his own bed.

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes when Yaku closed his eyes and yet Kuroo’s voice is rousing him from sleep again.

“Hey, I know you’re awake,” Kuroo prods. “What’d you do? Sleep all day?”

Yaku’s eyes snap open. Kuroo is sitting on the couch beside him, elbows resting on his knees. He returns Yaku’s glare down his nose.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Kuroo retorts. “You’re not exactly an esteemed guest here.”

It’s a sound enough statement that Yaku can agree with, and he begins to unfurl from his tiny ball.

“It’s three already?” Yaku mumbles.

“Three-thirty.”

Kuroo smells like mint and jasmine, the sweet tang of healing magic thick and syrupy. He still wears his witching cape around his shoulders; it’s black, formal, and lined with ruby red satin. Yaku feels naked and rude without the weight of his own.

Kuroo watches him carefully as he stretches out luxuriously, emulating the drunken cats from the yard. Strangely, the soreness he expected from his earlier activities doesn’t appear. Even the deep set ache in his spine from being trapped has disappeared.

“Feel better?” Kuroo asks knowingly.

“Maybe.” Yaku’s beginning to piece the picture together; the extensive garden, the feverfew in his meal, the musk of herbs lingering. “Are you training to be a doctor?”

“Close.”

Yaku blinks. “Apothecary?”

“Bingo.”

He hums, raking his eyes over Kuroo’s form once more. “Not a first choice for many.”

Kuroo stands suddenly and moves into the kitchen, as if to run from his gaze, but Yaku follows on his heels anyway.

“Do I not fit the bill?” Kuroo wonders, pulling containers of food from the fridge.

“Dunno yet.” Yaku watches from his perch on the island. “I don’t think I knew a lot of people who wanted to be apothecaries.”

He places a pot on the stove, flickering to life automatically, and in goes leftover stew.

“Is that so?” Kuroo murmurs quietly. He glides around the kitchen without really looking at Yaku; dishes appear, a cup fills with water, a small jar of feverfew paste tips into a bowl.

Was that a touchy subject? It’s a commonly sensitive thing to broach.

Yaku doesn’t feel apologetic in the least.

Yaku doesn’t bother offering help he can’t give. Kuroo manages the tasks just fine anyway and a hearty aroma begins to steam. In this tiny kitchen with a too big island, Yaku is as much of an intruder as a cockroach.

Fortunately, Kuroo does not seem to care that this canyon exists between them and begins to fill it with idle chatter. It’s careful, but easy to sink into. Kuroo’s mentor is in the next city over running The Akaashi Apothecary, and their son, Keiji, is being brought up alongside him. He speaks enthusiastically about a project they’ve been tasked with, something about a development in healing dark magic wounds.

When their food is prepared, Yaku eventually gets a turn to talk about his day, short as it may have been. He chose not to speak about the greenhouse. There were a lot of implications that Yaku had already decided to put away.

“But I tried thought projection on Hinata and Kageyama, and it seems I’m capable of that. My theory is that I’m allowed real low level-”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Hinata and Kageyama? They’re the cats I met in the back. The orange and black one.”

“Oh, you mean Shrimp and Squid.”

“You… You gave them the most awful names, Kuroo, what are you, _five_?”

“They’re simple, self-explanatory names! As they should be!”

Yaku makes a disgusted face at him and Kuroo returns the favor. The earlier tension has dissipated and Yaku feels a lot less guilty about having no hands. They do have more pressing matters than catfish, though.

“It’s stupider than you might imagine,” Yaku sighs, “and I’m not proud of it.”

Kuroo snickers, leaning against the counter. “Blow me away, shortcake. Extra points if you cursed yourself.”

“I did _not_ curse myself,” Yaku hisses, and threatens to whack Kuroo’s glass off the counter. Unfortunately, Kuroo removes the cup before he acts on it.

“Well, who did?”

“A student of mine. Technically, he’s not supposed to be.”

“Oh?”

“I’m in the teaching program for the Tokyo Witching Academy. I align with divination, so the goal is to be a divination professor.” Yaku swishes his tail against the cool marble. “But since I’m currently _not_ , under the guidelines I’m not allowed to teach any current academy students lest something goes wrong.”

Kuroo snorts.

“Can it.”

“My bad.” Kuroo puts his hands up. “I’m assuming it wouldn’t look very good for you to show up as an adorable kitten asking for help.”

“Pretty much,” Yaku confirms. “At the very worst, I could be booted from the program and have to reapply next year. Which is reason enough not to even _think_ about it, but a family friend cashed in a fat favor and I couldn’t say no. They wanted me to tutor their son, Lev, who is,” he pauses, “Unfairly talented, I’ll say.”

Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “Unfairly?”

“I’ve known him for a while and his magic has always been potent. He’s strong, but brash and underdeveloped.”

“Ah, I get the picture. The seal he placed on that tin box? Like a granola bar.”

Yaku’s face scrunches up and at the same time they agree, “Crumbly.”

“So he’s that kind of kid. For the past two weeks we’ve been doing okay: centering his focus, directing his spellcasting, memorizing spells; that sort of thing,” Yaku says. “That night I decided we would work on his transmutation skills, brought in an empty cookie tin, and what was _supposed_ to happen is that he would turn it into any animal he wanted.” His tail begins to lash at the counter.

“A live animal?”

“Nope! Not even live, just bending metal, really,” Yaku sneered. “It could’ve been misshapen, or missing an ear! But no! He managed to screw up the spell so bad, he wrangled me in and manifested his magic into a curse.”

The wince on Kuroo’s face does nothing to ease Yaku’s welling frustration. “That should be nearly impossible. A lot of curses don’t even manifest _intentionally_.” Kuroo leans forward. “Well, how’d you end up all the way at the hotsprings then?”

Yaku stares blankly back at him. “Lev… He blasted me all the way there from the woods behind the academy.”

They do nothing but stare at each other for the moment. Yaku is okay with it because he gets to watch a thousand expressions cross Kuroo’s face until it finally settles on uncomfortable.

“Your kid’s a freak!” Kuroo lets out an incredulous laugh. “I’ve never heard of anybody accidentally casting a curse while simultaneously creating enough force to send someone a few miles over.”

“Well, now you have.” Yaku sighs. “I thought I’d be able to sort things out, thinking the spell just went haywire, but when I came to, everything just felt... wrong. I’ve never been cursed before, but it’s like you’re full of the wrong stuffing.”

“Can’t say I can relate,” Kuroo admits. He pushes off from the island and begins to clear their dishes, leaving Yaku to stew in his sudden moodiness.

Yaku plops down onto his side. Recalling the events brings out a different kind of exhaustion, or maybe it’s just annoyance towards Lev. The two go hand in hand.

If he closes his eyes he knows he’ll see the bright white flash of Lev’s explosion, feel the taffy pull of his bones and muscles reforming. Is it better than the darkness of too-close tin walls, the neat rectangle he was stuffed into?

Kuroo is strong and experienced, unlike the bumbling doe Lev, but there is a place for everyone and a time for everything. How long can Yaku wait for Kuroo before the board wonders where he is? Should he fail to bring Yaku back or find someone else who can, what were his other options? Bow his head and beg the board to keep his hard-earned spot? What is a witch without magic?

Yaku tilts his head back to watch Kuroo, who keeps modesty in satin and has everything Yaku could possibly want at this moment. He washes the dishes with his bare hands like an offering to their previous tension, and Yaku pictures star bits and blooming pink buds tumbling from his long fingers. Who is Kuroo besides an apprentice apothecary with a penchant for enchanting mundane life?

“I’m assuming you’ve already thought about where to begin this curse-breaking process,” Kuroo prompts, knocking Yaku out of his thoughts. “Because I sure as hell haven’t.”

That’s a question he has answers to.

“Of course,” Yaku replies. “We’re going to the academy.”

Kuroo turns the tap off and turns to look at him, eyebrow raised.

“I’m sorry, I thought we just confirmed the academy would dump you if you showed up,” Kuroo said.

Yaku sniffs. “I don’t get _dumped_ , okay.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes.

“We’re not talking to the program people,” Yaku continues. “We’re going to find Lev.”

“And why would we do that?”

“Because I had Lev cast the spell using a tome and he should still have it.” Yaku pauses. “He better still have it.”

“Not many spellbooks talk about their curse counterpart, but it’s worth a shot,” Kuroo admits. “It’ll have to wait until next Sunday, though.”

Yaku rolls over into a proper sitting position. “What? Why?”

“Because, unlike you, I still have a regular work week.”

Shit, Yaku forgot about that. Yaku can’t really find Lev on his own either; the campus is too big to just hope they’ll run into each other. But he doesn’t want to wait that long, Yaku knows he’ll just get antsy. Even if it doesn’t lead anywhere, he wants to start somewhere.

Yaku’s tail sweeps sporadically back and forth across the marble.

“Don’t worry,” Kuroo sings, “I want this to be over with just as much as you do.”

He walks over to scratch Yaku underneath the chin, and to Yaku’s horror it feels good. In reflex, his paws shoot out to bat the hand away with an irritated mewl.

“I’ll see if anyone at Akaashi’s knows anybody.” Kuroo withdraws his hand and for the first time since they’ve met, Yaku finds a smile on Kuroo’s face. It’s reassuring and Yaku relaxes, if only a bit.

“Thanks,” Yaku mutters.

Tome hunting will have to wait, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a billion things hit me as i wrote this chapter and thus have been sprinkled in like seeds to bloom in the future. it's coming to me, it really is :o
> 
> at one point i got excited over developing witch culture/society in this universe, and then i also struggled to capture their personalities at this stage in the story, and a lot of other stuff, but! in the end, i have a better grasp of where everything is going, so i am excited!
> 
> fun fact: in my head, hinata and kageyama were always the unnamed cats from the first chapter, but they weren't planned to be actual characters! 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed this one, see you soon :)
> 
> catch me on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


	3. love is born on leaderboards - part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo is reacquainted with all things arcane and ancient before they make it to the academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part one of two!  
> haphazardly edited

When Kuroo isn’t at Akaashi’s, he’s holed up in his study. He pores over various scrolls and tomes or carefully tends the bubbling contents in the cauldron. Day after day, the steady flow of work is comforting in the same way the moon appears even in blue daylight. So is the heavy scent of lavender and the scratch of his pen on paper, the gentle bobbing of light in his peripheral. Foreign noises have been invading his concentration, however, like a muffled voice from the backyard, or paws padding down the hallway.

Kuroo does not seek Yaku out, and Yaku does the same. They have dinner together only for the fact that Yaku cannot fix himself his own plate (Kuroo’s not cruel enough to make him eat on the floor, either) and Yaku only scratches at his door to remind Kuroo when those meals are due.

“There’s no vegetables again,” Yaku stated one night, not accusatory, just suggestive in a way that shows restraint.

“You’re free to purchase them,” Kuroo had replied, and that was the end of that.

They typically make small talk about Kuroo’s projects and Yaku’s own coursework in the teaching program. Yaku’s words are laced with tension whenever he brings up the program. In the past, Kuroo has never felt Yaku waver, not even when his voice strained to compete with Kuroo’s. The board is likely to kick Yaku from the program if he doesn’t return in a suitable manner, and for all of Yaku’s verbose capacity, Yaku never voices this aloud, and Kuroo does not ask.

He knows Yaku is only being polite in the presence of a stranger. One evening, he had mulled it over: should he be offended?

They weren’t close in their days at the academy, they were far from it, really. When Yaku had transferred in during their second year, bright-eyed and poised, he immediately made himself a threat to Kuroo. He easily took Kuroo’s first place spot in exam rankings that first quarter. They rose to each other’s bait, fighting for _the best_ in every scoreboard they could find, and that’s how they lived with each other for that first year.

When Kuroo looks at Yaku now, with his pink toe pads and marbled fur, there’s a childish part inside of him cheering. Second-year Kuroo would be thrilled at this sight, all that talent bottled up, away from Kuroo’s fight to the top. Current Kuroo can only fight the urge to coo and pet him.

Kuroo’s palm has gone numb from holding up his head, which he takes as a cue to bring himself back to the present. He was only having a small break when his thoughts went rogue and the bundles of leafy stems and roots lie cold and judgemental before him. He had been given special prescription orders to fill before tomorrow, so Kuroo should really focus on making that happen, but his skull is full of piercing eyes, feline and human, and endless leaderboards.

There are still several more hours left in the day, Kuroo decides, so he spins his chair around with a sigh. He might as well press the trigger if he’s staring down the barrel already.

In Kuroo’s study, the large bay window behind his desk protrudes into the greenhouse, his own personal cubby to spy on the greenlings. Not that anything has ever gone wrong (he rigged the place, of course nothing would) he just likes to watch the planters go round and stare blatantly at the new visitor he’s received. 

Through the gaps in the leaves Kuroo can just about make out Yaku’s body sitting outside the entrance. Every afternoon, before Yaku is dragged off by a shrimp or another, he sits up against the glass to gaze upon his shrine. It’s partly invasive and partly suggestive.

Nobody’s really supposed to _know_ about the greenhouse, only for the fact that nobody goes into his backyard and Kenma’s not interested in Kuroo’s magical manifestation of desire. It was a project he saw in a fever dream, a cubby born of yearning for gentle gazes and two players, no ladders to the game, but an infinity sky and tiny kisses. He bore his visions so vivid, Kuroo is frightened that Yaku can see them too, picking apart every stem with scrutiny.

It’s incredibly invasive and incredibly suggestive. Enchantment is _pink_ magic, it’s _courting_ magic, sung by witches of youth and witches not yet old enough to tremble when they point and say: now that’s a prime bachelor. But Yaku never brings it up, and Kuroo never asks.

Kuroo had once considered granting Yaku access, just to see what he was thinking, but he decides he’s not ready to bite that bullet yet. Yaku has always had claws made for prying into the cavern of his chest.

-

On Thursday night, Yaku figures it out.

“Kuroo Tetsurou!”

Kuroo jerks in his seat at his desk, jamming his knee into the underside and scattering the powder he had just ground up. A pale yellow cloud goes up. _Ah, back to the pestle._

“You will open this door right now!” Yaku is a booming thunderstorm Kuroo hasn’t entertained in years. “Kuroo!”

Kuroo shrinks. “I’m busy!” he calls weakly, fanning the powder away.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Yaku hisses.

“Hey now, you’re being a little _malicious_ , if I do say so.” Kuroo heaves himself out of his chair with a grunt and shuffles to the door. He cracks it open to peek outside. “And it’s not very nice.”

Yaku, tiny and kittenish, slips through the gap in a blur. Kuroo leaves the door wide open for a quick escape and follows him back in, eyeing his ruffled fur warily. He marches into the center of the study and drops a black picture frame onto the hardwood with a clatter. In bold golden font, on a familiar certificate, reads:

**THIS CERTIFIES THAT**

**KUROO TETSUROU**

**HAS COMPLETED A COURSE OF STUDY FOR GRADUATION**

**FROM THE TOKYO WITCHING ACADEMY**

Kuroo tries to meld into the shadows when the lights drift a little too far to one side, but Yaku has him locked on. He’s trapped.

“You know, don’t you feel a little guilty for not remembering an old pal?” Kuroo tries. The little grin he attempts withers when Yaku stalks closer. “I’m offended, really,” he tacks on.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were? That we _knew_ each other? What are you planning?”

Kuroo scowls, studies the light in Yaku’s eyes, and replies carefully, “I wasn’t planning anything.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” he sneers. “Were you just waiting to snitch to the academy? Is that how you want to beat me down?”

Then it clicks, that in Yaku’s mania they’re facing off in an empty school hallway. They’re second years and virulent, scraping in stone by their nails the lives they will lead, the success they will taste. This is not a stir-crazy scuffle, this is Yaku standing by a battle begun years ago.

This is the witch’s curse and Kuroo is not immune.

“I’ve never needed a proxy to beat you at anything, and you fucking know it.” Kuroo is seething, and he needs to reel it in (he’s not childish like this, he’s better than this) but the venom is coursing through his veins silvery hot and fast. “Your insecurity is showing.”

Yaku bares his fangs to the light. “You were the one who always had to pick a fight from the very first day! You were the insecure one, you _always_ knew I was _always_ better from the very beginning!”

“You just thought you were _hot shit,”_ Kuroo spits. “Someone had to put you in your place.”

Yaku laughs, short and abrasive. “And you thought you were the one to do it? You can’t even read Arcana for shit!”

“Excuse me?! At least I can draw my summoning circles properly! _Circles!_ ”

Back and forth, back and forth, they shout increasingly meaningless words, hoping to smother one another, until they’re out of breath. Kuroo’s palms tingle with unbidden energy. The air in the room is charged and the lights flicker. Shadows meld reality for a brief second.

Yaku stands before him in a pool of raging fire to match the expression on his face; flushed cheeks, wind-blown hair, flames sputtering from his fingertips, _unhinged_. Did Kuroo strike again that time? Or was it Yaku, abusing his gift for sight and knocking Kuroo’s chances down?

A knuckle-toughed spot in Kuroo’s chest aches deeply. It is cracked and leathery like a worn piece of hide left to bake in the sun, but it cradles his affection so tightly. He wanted to clasp their hands together, ceasefire, and plead with this ancient blood that there was something worthwhile on this middle rung.

Deep breath. Roots and stems. Whiskers like thick spider webbing.

Calm, Kuroo meets Yaku’s slitted eyes again.

Kuroo asks quietly, “Do you really think I’d sabotage you like that?” Before Yaku can answer, he adds, “I’m not asking as a witch.”

Yaku turns his head away. “You should know better than to separate ourselves like that.”

“I’m all for breaking social norms.”

He paces the floor. His tail brushes through the pale dust littered by the desk.

“Maybe I was wary by not telling you before, but they won’t just kick me out until the next year rolls over.” He pauses, fixates on something else. “They’ll kick me out for good, no re-entry, and leave it on my record for all of academia to see. A witch who can’t follow the rules is no good.”

Kuroo watches him drift away, step neatly over his diploma, and leap up onto Kuroo’s desk.

He says again sotto voce, “I’m not asking as a witch.”

A scoff. “You’re selfish.”

“I’m just wondering.”

“I trusted you.”

“And you can still trust me.”

“Why’d you hide it then?”

There are several reasons. A lot of them are hiding in the greenhouse that Yaku has taken notice of. Kuroo can’t see his expression at all, can’t guess the cat language Yaku now speaks fluently.

“I…” Kuroo starts, “didn’t have a reason to bring it up. I didn’t think you’d be too happy to see me.”

Kuroo thinks Yaku is too tired to argue, but Yaku never gets tired, so he’s forced to believe that Yaku has given in.

“You’re annoying, not evil,” Yaku finally answers. “But I’m not sorry.”

There’s no humor left in him to laugh at how Yaku-like it is, but the edge has left his voice.

“Don’t worry, neither am I.”

He bends down to pick up the frame, dust it off, and set it on his desk to put back later. 

“Your lights are shitty. They flicker.”

“You wanna play with them, Yakkun?”

“Shut the hell up.”

Kuroo watches him jump down and exit the room and wonders what drove him out of Yaku’s memory. Could it be that Yaku was simply a brighter star in his sky than Kuroo was in his? Insignificance made his skin itch. He blames it on the jinx of the witch and doesn’t ask.

-

Nobody at Akaashi’s has any contacts of the curse-breaking type, which is extremely disappointing, but not entirely surprising. Curses are weird in the sense that in comparison to having to undo them, it’s not hard to cast them; Lev is an apparent example of that. Not many people do cursing much around here either. Tokyo’s a big city that solves its personal problems in other ways, like arguing over mushy rice.

“You put too much water, Kuroo,” Yaku complains, chewing in exaggerated motions, tongue and lip-smacking and all.

“Then call it porridge,” is all Kuroo says, crinkling his nose at him. He tosses a kitchen towel over Yaku’s head to make his point and snickers when he wiggles wildly to get it off.

After the fight two days ago, they kept their distance. Which was the norm anyway, but it certainly felt like they were dancing around each other, hesitant to cross a line so recently erased. _There’s really nothing we’re returning to,_ Kuroo thinks, chewing his food. _Just not-so-strangers._

Yaku manages to shake it off and glare at Kuroo. “It’s really closer to soup,” he says.

“You’re exaggerating.” Kuroo tries to cover his head with the towel again but gets quickly shut down by a flashy swipe of claws. “You’re still gonna eat it!”

“Just make it right then!”

Well, they’re slowly opening up to each other to the point of becoming unconventional roommates at least. Meals aren’t stiff occasions anymore and Kuroo sometimes peaks outside on his breaks to check up on him. Yaku is typically always occupied with Hinata and Kageyama, but Kuroo’s pretty sure he found him rolling around in the catnip once; or, maybe it was another tabby. Kuroo can imagine.

At night, Kuroo typically locks both doors to the house (there are strange creatures that he is not interested in giving house tours). That quickly became a problem when Yaku needed to pee at night and turned to waking up Kuroo by sitting on his chest and slapping him around. After that he was obligated to fashion a charmed collar for him, a leathery ruby piece turned from a thin strip of ribbon. Based on which side of the sliding door the collar is on, it'll either lock or unlock; all it takes is Yaku’s will and the door slides open and closed without worry of getting locked out. Yaku wanted the same mechanics for the mesh door too after complaining about having to always pry it open with his claws, so he threw that in too, just to show off.

Kuroo’s pretty proud of his rigging, and even prouder of the pretty red around Yaku’s neck. It's the same color as Kuroo’s cape.

“Why don’t you just use the toilet?” Kuroo remembers asking, as he’s buckling the collar on. “You can flush, can’t you?”

Yaku grumbled, “I don’t want to fall in, okay?”

Kuroo had laughed raucously, picturing the scene perfectly: Yaku, poised and concentrating his bowels, suddenly taking a dip into the toilet water and having to scramble out of the bowl, yowling and splashing everywhere. Yaku was not as amused and threatened to lock him out one day.

What they’ve progressed into is new territory, but welcoming all the same.

Later that evening, Kuroo moves his work into the living room. Kenma once told him a change of scenery is good for his productivity and focus, which he could get behind, but all of his materials and tools are in the study, making it inconvenient to do so often. When he happens to have a lot of readings Kuroo does make an effort to crawl out and into the living room at the very least, which is the current case.

The matter of fact is, though, that Yaku lives in the living room. So when Kuroo shuffles over to the couch with an armful of books, he shouldn’t be surprised to find Yaku sprawled out on his side taking a nap (he does a lot of napping) but he is. When he’s lax like this it’s easy to believe Yaku is just a typical house cat, and Kuroo’s fingers twitch with the temptation of petting his soft belly.

Suddenly, he begins to stir, sensing on some animal instinct that something is near, and opens his eyes to Kuroo. They freeze in each other’s gazes, unease beginning to creep in. Well, at least they both seem uncomfortable at this situation. They don’t really hang out, in fact, they’ve _never_ hung out before.

“Can I help you?” Yaku asks slowly. He doesn’t budge from his lax position, blinking lazily.

Kuroo shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. “Just gonna be workin’ on some stuff out here, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s your house,” he reminds him. “You can do whatever you want.”

“I know, I just…” Kuroo fumbles for words. “I- Yeah, okay.”

Yaku’s bowl of water slides out of the way when he dumps tomes and textbooks onto the coffee table. He arranges them by order of priority reading, stacking and mentally categorizing them only to delay taking a seat. For the first half hour, they exist in silence; Kuroo hunched over a notebook and various texts, Yaku presumably going back to sleep. The light orbs followed Kuroo into the room and bob listlessly above them, washing away the darkness pouring from the glass door. He has electric lights in the house, but Kuroo prefers the familiar golden atmosphere to be present wherever he works.

He eventually stumbles upon a particularly difficult passage from a late witch’s autobiography. A good portion of it uses Arcana, and as much as Kuroo hates to admit it, Yaku was right: he can’t read for shit. There are new ways to notate and more conventional terms that have evolved in the recent decades, but there’s a certain novelty to the foundation of magic, the allure of the original words on your lips. Kuroo doesn’t care for novelty. Or, Kuroo is fussy and bitter, and sucking at the common language for all magics is a blow to his pride.

It takes a lot of staring and referencing a glossary before Kuroo lets out a frustrated sigh. Beside him, Yaku is beginning to take interest.

“You look like you need help,” Yaku decides to point out; not to be mean, unfortunately, but because Kuroo is starting to look particularly pathetic with his face two inches from the pages like _that_ will help. “Desperately.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kuroo mutters, scribbling something useless down.

He hears a scoff and then a thud as Yaku leaps onto the table. A paw curls over the top of his book, forcing it back down to the table. Kuroo stares, unimpressed, but decides to let him do as he pleases. His eyes dance between the texts and Kuroo’s notes. For a moment, he feels like he’s being graded.

“You’ve had this same problem for years, Kuroo,” Yaku says, indicating with a sharp claw. “Look, right here, you forget this symbol because you always write it wrong. The meaning becomes completely different- hey, this one too!”

“I do _not_ ,” Kuroo defends, but he corrects and makes a note of them anyway. “A squiggle is a squiggle.”

“Squiggle my _ass_ , how did you even pass linguistics?”

“Because my reading comprehension is superior.”

Yaku’s face scrunches up, physically disgusted. “I cannot _believe_ I considered you on my level.”

“How sweet.”

He flips the pages towards the beginning of the section. The print is shiny silver and lights up a faint blue when Kuroo runs his fingers over the letters. “See, over here, even if you didn’t remember some of these characters, you can trace back from the modern equivalents to make a pretty good guess,” Kuroo explains. “Formulas are generally pretty easy to read, and every author tends to lean toward a specific structure. Once you pick up on the patterns, figuring out the rest is only a matter of time.”

Yaku followed along carefully before responding incredulously, “You seriously passed your exams like this? By playing fill in the blank? Do you know how _wrong_ you could misinterpret like that? You could turn a conjuring into a _vaporizer_.”

“Jealous, Yakkun?” Kuroo grins. “I was only a few points away from you for the linguistics final.”

“You got lucky, you illiterate,” he huffs.

“Hey, don’t fix what’s not broke.”

Yaku presses for more demonstrations of his reading technique, and Kuroo dutifully thumbs through the pages a few more times, fueled by his intense curiosity. He seems to reluctantly come to the conclusion that maybe fully understanding arcane language isn’t as important as he previously believed. Second-year Kuroo would be damned to find commonality with Yaku.

“That could be useful for students who struggle with memorization, and it forces you to constantly analyze your material…”

Yaku goes on muttering, lost in thought suddenly, and Kuroo relishes the warmth of satisfaction. He traces his tabby stripes with his eyes. Under the golden light, he looks like he belongs there on his table, like Yaku’s weight had always existed within these old walls. If he loses focus he could imagine him as a human sitting beside him, maybe with less space between and no capes weighing down on them. It is, of course, pure imagination crawling out from the greenhouse and biting Kuroo in the neck. 

He smiles and almost reaches out to scritch the top of his head before Yaku is interrupting. “Alright then, what about necromancy texts?” Yaku challenges. There’s an edge to his voice, a demand for even more.

_Insatiable_. Kuroo lifts a brow, meeting Yaku’s gaze head on. “Why, because they’re super ancient and super complex?”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s only considered complex because it doesn’t rely on the systematic characters that the others use. Different factions and stuff like that.”

_Huh_. Kuroo knows that they’ve probably argued over this in the past (needlessly, of course) most likely on the second floor of the library in the narrow hallway leading to the restrooms. He doesn’t know why it had to be there, but that’s where they always happened to run into each other. Maybe they were drawn to the way their voices echoed against the walls and the slanted, heavenly light beaming through the ceiling. This doesn’t feel like that, except it kinda does because Kuroo has the urge to both push Yaku around and whisper over reanimating the dead with him at the same time.

So the grin that spreads across Kuroo’s face is slow and arcane, like white magic that slithers over your nerves, like standoffs in empty corridors, and he chooses to agree for once.

“Exactly!”

-

Sunday finally rolls around like a fat, lazy cat. It would have come sooner if they hadn’t spent the night discussing potion theory and whether or not fairy dust is safe to recreationally snort (surprisingly, Yaku is of the assenting opinion). Kuroo didn’t get much work done, but he came out of it familiar with both arcane grammar and the steady fascination in Yaku’s voice. It’s a golden rose if Kuroo ever saw one.

“Can you _please_ get up now?” Yaku asks.

“Y’see, I'd love to, but I've got someone's fat ass on me,” Kuroo grumbles.

Sitting on Kuroo while he sleeps has really become a favored pastime for Yaku, much to his chagrin, and, unfortunately, he keeps getting stronger when it comes to slapping him around.

Kuroo shields his face from Yaku’s paws with a pillow, nearly knocking him clean off his chest. He could’ve aimed better.

“Yeah, and it's the only ass you're getting, now hurry up.”

He lets out an _oof!_ when Yaku finally leaps off and exits the bedroom.

Kuroo follows after a few minutes, stopping by the bathroom to wash up. He inspects his face in the dirty mirror. There’s a thin, shallow cut etched into his cheekbone that stings when he rubs his fingers over it. He considers healing it, then decides to leave it alone for Yaku’s guilt.

_Eh_. Kuroo doubts he’d feel bad over a stray claw, but he’s been entertaining hopeful thoughts lately.

The sun is only just beginning to peak over the horizon, a reminder that Kuroo is almost never awake this early on a Sunday. It creates long shadows that creep up the walls and paints his furniture in feeble, yellow light. Even the dust motes aren’t awake yet. The house holds its breath, wants to be left undisturbed.

He appreciates the serenity of his home with sleepy reluctance to tackle the day, basking in the sun’s warmth over his bare feet. Kuroo sways.

Something thuds against the glass door. Three pairs of feline eyes stare into the living room.

“Don’t be creepy!” Kuroo shouts, putting his hands on his hips.

“They’re hungry!” Yaku’s voice rings his mind and he lets out a sigh.

Kuroo fixes up breakfast quickly, scrambled eggs and sliced strawberries, and joins them outside. The air is cold and Kuroo suddenly remembers he hasn’t dressed yet, hadn’t even tied his mantle around his shoulders.

Hinata and Kageyama are mewling excitedly, weaving around his legs as floating plates of food descend from the sky.

“You totally told them our plans, didn’t you?” Kuroo accuses, taking a seat. He shudders. Even the porch is freezing. “They only show up _after_ I bring the food out.”

Yaku’s ears flick in lieu of a shrug and sniffs at the eggs. “Was I not supposed to?”

“I thought you wanted to leave right away,” Kuroo points out, “not have breakfast with your friends.”

“They were your friends first,” Yaku insists.

Kuroo huffs. “You have a soft spot for your own kind,” he jokes, but neither of them have the energy to start a real fight.

Hinata and Kageyama don’t seem to mind the new feeding schedule, chowing down with vigor. It’s cute in a way, and Kuroo doesn’t resist scratching them behind their ears. 

Little balls of orange and black fur: a baby shrimp and squid. That’s how Kuroo met them when he first moved in. They were certainly not the first creatures to venture into his yard; something about the thrum of magic in the earth, or the gold in his new blood, attracted atlas-sized hummingbirds, twelve-legged spiders, and glowing blue bunnies. In on their little paws and rambunctious attitudes they went, tumbling into an empty cat-shaped hole in Kuroo’s heart. Other strays would soon make a home of the ever-flowering catnip (a present gone ignored by their recipients) but they were never lured by the heat of Kuroo’s palms or the nectar of sweet fruit.

They’re adults now, he realizes. Watching them chatter noisily with Yaku, Kuroo notices that there are notches in Kageyama’s left ear, and along Hinata’s shoulder is a healing wound. It takes a village to raise a child, but in every visit they seemed to grow just fine, only needing a Sunday meal and each other to hold onto.

_Inseparable_. They never outgrew their tendencies to fight at every possible moment, and yet Kuroo has never seen them apart, never fed up or agitated, always slipping out of unsheathed claws to lie an affectionate tongue over ruffled fur. Maybe it’s a cat thing. Maybe they don’t understand things like grudges and grievances. Maybe they have nine other lives to live differently anyway.

Maybe to them there’s no such thing as greener pastures and golder roses, but just the simple fact that sometimes a chunk of watermelon is a much sweeter high than that of catmint.

Kuroo suddenly wants to hurry and turn Yaku back to normal.

Amidst these thoughts, his hand begins to drift from one head to another, and his fingers land square between Yaku’s ears. They look at each other in shock. His fur is soft and warm as expected. Kuroo isn’t sure whether to go ahead and pet him or to retract his hand, but Yaku speaks first.

“I’m not oblivious, you know.”

Kuroo flinches. How many times had Yaku caught his wandering hand?

“It’s just weird,” Kuroo drawls, “since you’re… a human and all.”

Yaku snorts and asks, “Is that what you see?”

And Kuroo’s fingertips, in some reflexive instinct to obey, pushes everything out of his perception except Yaku. Yaku with his round cheeks and hair that curls at the ends and lips stained berry red and eyes that _stare and stare and stare-_

He rips his hand away. That wasn’t intentional, but the magic had surged up and out of him like a geyser.

“Are you okay? What the fuck was that?”

Yaku is _concerned_ now and Kuroo wonders what his face looked like, if something other than shock muscled through.

“Huh? Yeah, yeah, no, I dunno,” Kuroo fumbles, leaning back on his hand. _Real cool_.

He squints.

_“Which is it?”_

Another furry body pushes itself against Kuroo’s open hand, begging for the scritches that Yaku had dared to question. Kuroo indulges Hinata if only to get his brain working again.

He decides to cast a dirty grin and says, “Saw your ugly face again and it shocked me.” That was clearly the wrong answer when Yaku swipes his plate right off the deck. “Yaku!”

Kuroo ends up saying an early goodbye to Hinata and Kageyama and faces the ordeal of cleaning up alone. The house is silent and even the kitchen’s hum of enchantment can’t soothe his frazzled nerves. He eases it with practiced motions; he dries his hands, dresses properly, and smothers golden roses with a sweep of his cape over his shoulders.

He returns to the living room just in time to watch Yaku bump his head against two shoulders and waltz back inside. “I just want to say,” Yaku starts, “that you totally deserved it.”

“I have been a _gracious_ host!”

“Really? Putting my water bowl on top of the fucking cabinet?”

“You’re great at climbing now, huh?” Kuroo grins, enjoying the annoyed twitch in his tail. “It was just a joke, Yakkun, you’re very cute-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Yaku interjects. “Can we get going?”

Kuroo snickers and indicates towards a familiar tin box he recovered. “Hop in, shortcake.”

At this, Yaku hesitates, tottering between stepping forward and shuffling back altogether. The light doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. _Ah._

Kuroo traces his fingers around the sides of the box, feeling the raised lettering and the rough patch of Lev’s damage, and murmurs quietly. A blue glow obscures vision of the box before dissipating with a sparkle. He presents a newly formed wicker basket to Yaku, comfortably padded with a cushion at the bottom.

“Your majesty?” Kuroo prompts.

He can tell Yaku wants to grumble, maybe even knock over another plate, but he climbs in anyway and sits like a loaf. “I didn’t know we were cosplaying Little Red Riding Hood,” Yaku sniffs.

Kuroo cackles on their way out.

-

As Kuroo had marvelled at before, the forest stretching between the Tokyo Witching Academy and the back of Kenma’s inn is worth about two train stops. Emerging from the station only accentuates his awe as the tall woods peak in the distance, verdant and sprawling.

“Are you sure he’s not like… you know,” Kuroo murmurs to Yaku, trying to be discrete.

“No, I don’t know.” 

“Like, _ancient_.”

“Last time I checked in with his family, no.”

Kuroo huffs and continues down the sidewalk.

He hasn’t been back in this area since he graduated, but the scene sings a familiar tune. Long-standing restaurants greet him with merry conversations like old friends, and the same franchise coffee shop sits at the intersection, run by another round of teenagers. If he takes a right after the pawn shop and manages to step through the overflow of terracotta pottery and mermaid-scale jewelry, Kuroo will find himself walking towards the residential area, marked off by the flashy convenience store nestled there. But Kuroo keeps going with Yaku dozing off his arm, until he reaches the iron wrought fencing caging in the woods.

The magic washes over Kuroo in a sticky, syrupy way; prepubescent urges, body odor, scoreboards with infinity numbers. He adjusts the clasp of his cape and quickly finds a bench just beyond the entrance to rest at. Kuroo remembers sitting here a few times, waiting for a friend or passing the time with a can of soda, but there aren’t any students around now. They’re either out enjoying their weekend or sleeping it away in the dorms.

Yaku stirs when he’s placed down, unhinging his jaw in a fang-filled yawn.

“Alright, time to put you to work,” Kuroo announces after scanning the street once more.

He lets out a soft growl and mutters, “You make me sound useless.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you kinda are. Now stop being grumpy.” 

Locating Lev won’t take much effort on Kuroo’s end, but he needs to know the subject of his search first.

Kuroo holds his palm out for Yaku to place his paw in. It’s devastatingly small, but he focuses on emptying his mind and blocks out any unwanted visions. The thread appears slowly and thin, and Kuroo latches onto it greedily. Yaku feeds him the image of a tall youth with silver hair and slanted green eyes. His smile is pearly white, wide, and mischievous. Kuroo can’t hear him, but he _looks_ loud.

A moment later and the scene shifts. It’s inside a cozy house, and this time, Yaku is there with Lev. They’re younger, maybe still in middle school, and Yaku is chasing him around with a furious expression on his face. For his massive body, Lev moves quickly around the dining table and the couches, laughing all the way. 

Another change. This time, only Lev is in view (closer to his present age) but Kuroo can tell Yaku’s presence in the littering of advanced tomes across the desk. They must be studying; Lev’s focus penetrates the barriers of memory and reality, sending a shiver up Kuroo’s spine. He can almost feel his power, and like Yaku, he’s stuck watching awe as he devours chants and incantations. Suddenly, it dissipates as a young woman enters the room bearing sliced apples. Lev’s face melts into affection, and he looks like a kid again.

Kuroo sucks in a breath when Yaku severs the thread and the sound of cars driving by come rushing back.

“Good enough?” Yaku asks, staring up at him. There’s a slight strain in his voice.

“Yeah, more than enough,” Kuroo breathes. Yaku’s powers are supposed to be limited, but Kuroo feels like he’s been plunged into a storybook, and it’s _startling_. “Give me a second.”

The bones in his fingers ache, still recovering from the visual overload Yaku gave him. He presses his fingerpads to each other and feels his pulse beat steadily before casting out the line. There are hundreds of individuals within his range, blipping insignificantly: Kuroo’s looking for confident shoulders, apple-scented breath, a lion hunting in the wild. A sharp sting meets the contact between his fingers when Kuroo finally finds him somewhere in the northeastern court.

Kuroo shakes his hands out, hangs Yaku’s basket from his arm, and passes through the academy’s arching gates. The administrative offices and the library are holed up in the giant central dome, and branching off towards the back are various departments in tall, ring-shaped buildings. His footsteps don’t echo in the glass-walled corridors connecting it all, erased by the silencing magic imbued in the concrete. With the absence of students and their conversations, it feels like Kuroo doesn’t exist.

“I remember having to run from potions all the way to literature,” Yaku reminisces quietly, startling him.

Kuroo just hums in agreement as they pass beneath an archway and out of bright morning sunlight. He moves quickly down the hallway with the efficiency of a true alumnus. In many of these classrooms are ghosts of lectures and demonstrations Kuroo hardly remembers. _Oh, they fixed that light_.

“I just remember beating you there every time,” Kuroo says.

“You did not.”

“Sure did.”

Kuroo follows the pulse of Lev’s aura further and further until they reach another archway leading to their desired courtyard. Neatly trimmed flower bushes dot the wooden planks (although he’s pretty sure they used to be blue, not red) to break up the monotony of tables and chairs. Only one table is currently occupied, but by _two_ people. 

Curious, Kuroo remains hidden in the corridor. Lev is easy to make out with his height, but the other boy hadn’t appeared in Yaku’s memories. He’s much shorter than Lev with black hair, but his back is turned towards them, and Kuroo can’t distinguish anything else. Slung over the back of Lev’s chair is a deep blue cape, presumably his, and Kuroo clicks his tongue. 

“Your protege is quite the flirt I see,” Kuroo drawls.

Yaku peaks over the edge of the basket with a muted, “Oh my god.”

They watch Lev trace sigils on the back of the other boy’s hand, a wide smile plastered on his face. Several books lie between them in what appears to be a study session, but the lack of space between the two is absurdly inappropriate for one.

“Oh? That’s for good luck. And that one’s for beauty. Ooh, and that’s for lo-”

Yaku doesn’t appreciate the commentary and sinks a quick bite into Kuroo’s wrist. He yelps and slaps a hand over his stinging flesh. Lev and the other boy perk up, but Kuroo is quick to stumble back behind the wall.

“I do _not_ want to spy on Lev’s _courting_ ,” Yaku hisses quietly.

“Neither do I, but I’m not interrupting _that!_ ” he mutters back. Bitterness lodges itself in the back of his throat at the sight of such blatant displays of affection. What was _he_ doing at that age? Oh, right, getting set on fire by a pretty little witch. “Why don’t _you_ go in there?”

“Are you kidding me? I can hardly trust him to use magic out of the damn book, and you think I trust him not to freak out over a telepathic cat?”

“But he’s a witch!”

“He’s an idiot!”

“Yaku-san?” Lev calls. “Is that you?”

They both go rigid and stare hard at each other. It’s almost nostalgic; they were always good at silently communicating anger at each other with suggestive eyebrow movement and snarling.

Kuroo feels Lev approaching before his head pops around the corner. His face is expectant and then droops with the effect of a wilted flower when he finds Kuroo.

“Ah, you’re not Yaku-san,” he says. “I thought you were somebody I knew!”

“No, I’m not,” Kuroo affirms slowly, “but he _is_ here.”

He figures they’ve already been caught, but he feels Yaku jolt in objection as Lev’s face crumples in confusion. Kuroo doesn’t spare a glance at Yaku as he hefts him up to eye level. “You turned Yaku-san into a cat!”

The humored _snrrk_ Kuroo can’t repress comes out louder than he intended.

Yaku twists and snaps upright, a feisty snarl curling his features. Kuroo fights to keep the basket stable. “No, you asshole, _you_ turned me into a cat!”

Lev yelps, stumbling back with his hands clutched to his head. “It speaks!”

Kuroo spectates the shouting that ensues. _Hm, I think I overestimated him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dialogue is hard and my brain is soft :(
> 
> there is a lot of vague gesturing towards their past together, i hope it's coherent. i'm curious as to how people think things are shaping up or what direction they think it's going or things they noticed. i just want to know if what i'm dropping is being picked up, or if i need to adjust my storytelling. gimme that analysis babey!! (if u want)
> 
> also, if anybody is hoping for some big twist as to why yaku couldn't recall kuroo: it doesn't exist, but that's the point :)
> 
> annnd yeah! if you're interested in sneak peaks of the writing in progress, or just other stuff i write, you can check it out on twitter [@softresetter](https://twitter.com/softresetter)


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